An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Twenty

joskes dulce mexicano

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Andrew Stevens, March 1912

Mr. K’s hands dance above his desk. “That Leroy Denman is no more than a marionette. George Brackenridge jerks his strings, and he plops right down into the automobile seat next to ventriloquist Tom Campbell’s dummy, Judge Ramsey.”

The Colonel agrees. “If Governor Hogg hadn’t appointed Leroy Denman to the Supreme Court, not a soul would know his name. Yet he struts around town as though he were Le Roi instead of plain old Leee-roy.”

John smiles. “His briefs from the bench were so brief, there’s scarcely a scintilla of evidence he has any sense at all.”

Mr. K grunts. “Ludicrous! Arming those old gray soldiers in Gonzales with push-brooms. Amazing the brooms did not get tangled up with the old Confederates’ canes, sending the whole decrepit lot cascading to the ground like dominos.”

Continue reading “An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Twenty”

An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Nineteen

Begin with Chapter One ~ Return to Chapter Eighteen

Former Governor Thomas Mitchell Campbell, February 1912

Thomas Campbell leans over his office desk toward his chosen candidate, Judge William Franklin Ramsey. “Going home to announce your gubernatorial campaign represents sound strategy. Gonzales always embraces you enthusiastically. Plus, it’s close enough to San Antonio to irk those brewers, particularly when the opening of your speech urges passage of an act prohibiting them and their saloonkeepers from making political contributions.” 

The Judge nods in agreement. “The domination of this state by liquor interests is shameless. Their stranglehold must be broken.”

Continue reading “An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Nineteen”

An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Eighteen

Begin with Chapter One ~ Return to Chapter Seventeen

Andrew Stevens, February 1912

The Colonel holds up his folded newspaper. “It appears the so-called green fairy will cease to cast her intoxicating spell over Americans. That hellfire-and-brimstone Secretary of Agriculture is determined to ban the importation of absinthe. Men will no longer be able to seduce young women unaware that absinthe makes the heart grow fonder. The potent French frappé will no longer summon strange, swirling monsters to the bottom of a glass.”

Mr. K emits a snort. “While I have never taken a whiff of that stuff, banning it is wrong. Pros are like rats. A tiny chink in our wall, and in they will swarm, nibbling away at our rights. President Taft should have prevented his secretary from launching this clandestine attack. We send Adolphus Busch princely sums to hire people in Washington so things like this do not slip through the cracks.

Continue reading “An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Eighteen”